


Riot and Recovery

by Storm_Rain



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coulson Lives, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Pheels, Schmoop, hurtcomfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storm_Rain/pseuds/Storm_Rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Helicarrier is retaken, Clint gets some upsetting news about his handler/lover Phil. He fights in the Battle of New York for him and to come back home to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riot and Recovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BradyGirl_12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/gifts).



**Title** : Riot and Recovery

 **Pairings/Characters** : Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, James Rhodes “Rhodey”

 **Rating** : PG-13

 **Warnings** : Coulson Lives, fluff, hurtcomfort, pheels, angst with a happy ending, fix-it

 **Summary** : After the Helicarrier is retaken, Clint gets some upsetting news about his handler/lover Phil. He fights in the Battle of New York for him and to come back home to him.

 **Notes** : This is my first ever fic written for an exchange. I hope it’s up to snuff.

 

Waking up was the hardest part.

 

Through the haze of leftover remnants of the spear, he struggled up to the surface from what felt like a load of quicksand combined with the stickiest honey and jello he’d ever eaten. There was still a myriad of colors around him, blue being the strongest, and a voice in his head trying to take control again. He fought it with all he had, for once feeling like he had something akin to control in his hands again.

 

When he finally made it to the surface, it was to the familiar feeling of Natasha’s hands on him and the sound of her voice. Not soothing, exactly, but comforting in the familiarity. He grunted and let the last of the shivering run through him and opened his eyes.

 

“Delta, Foxtrot 8509F.”

 

“Alpha, Charlie 9604E,” he responded immediately looking up where he saw just the slightest curve of a smile on his partner’s lips, what amounted to full-out beaming from her, and which she showed only to those she trusted implicitly.”

 

“Welcome back, Barton.” She shoved a glass of water with a straw in it under his nose, and he obediently sucked at it while she used her free hand to unstrap him. When he was done, he shook his head and grimaced when it twinged hard.

 

“Geez, Nat, did you have to hit me so hard? Damn.”

 

“Cognitive recalibration. I had to be sure that I was going to get you back.” Her voice wavered only in the slightest, and he remembered how he had groaned her name before passing out after she’d walloped him. He squeezed her hand and they took a quiet moment to acknowledge that they were both here and they were both okay. Which only emphasized who was not here at their side, and he shakily got to his feet, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overtake him.

 

“Gotta see Phil, I know I didn’t shoot him, he’s gotta be around here somewhere, maybe with Fury, or in the med bay down the hall and a level below us if he got injured--”

 

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he stilled and turned to look at his partner. Her face was blank in the way he knew meant bad news. He swallowed. This wasn’t good.

 

“Nat? Where’s. Phil?” he asked as calmly as he could, but his voice quavered, giving him away.

  
“He was stabbed by Loki through the chest, in the back,” she said bluntly, and that was something Clint would never stop loving about her; she didn’t pull her punches, literally or figuratively. It didn’t stop him from wincing, though, and not from the way his head was pounding. “He’s alive, but in critical care, his pericardial sac got nicked and he’s been bleeding into his chest cavity. The others don’t know he’s alive; Fury told them that he died. He’s using it to motivate them.”

 

“And I’m guessing I’m not allowed to blab?” The archer sighed, hands clenching. “Alright. But I’ve gotta see him at least once before we leave. Please, Tash,” he begged, when she pursed her lips. “I know we have a time limit, but I just...I need to know…” He had to touch Phil, feel that he was alive for himself. See it with his own two eyes. Or he’d spend the whole battle they were heading towards thinking about Phil, and he’d get himself killed and it would all be screwed up again--

 

“Clint! Alright. We’ll go see him, he’s in the lower deck of the helicarrier. It’s been converted into a medical wing.”

 

She left out the part where Clint’s band of mercenaries had been the ones to level the original medical wing, and he was grateful for that right now. She handed him a cup of coffee--now that  he’d been freed of Loki’s mojo, his body had wanted to collapse. The god hadn’t let him sleep since this whole thing started, and since he’d been all gung-ho Please My Master Loki, he’d stayed awake. He drank it down gratefully and quickly washed up. The last thing it sounded like Phil would need was his grubby hands near his recovering body.  
  
“Okay, I’m ready.”

 

“No, you’re not, but we’re going anyway,” she said easily. He bobbed his head in what he hoped looked like a nod of agreement, and followed her out of the containment room. It was immediately clear what reaction he’d be getting for a long time after this; flinches and people swerving around him, gaping and staring. Expressions of fear from Linda in the science division who’d he’d had lunch with in the cafeteria last week, Vasquez who worked on the flight deck and had a bandage wrapped around his head from who knew what.

 

He ignored them all with a stony stare, fighting back any flinch or expression of emotion that threatened to break through. SHIELD had finally become something close to home in the past five years, and now that was all gone. Wiped away with the simple touch of the spear to his chest.

 

He would deal, because Phil would be with him. He had to be. Or it wasn’t worth it anymore. He had only stayed on this job so long because of Phil and Nat, mostly because of Phil, which Natasha understood.

 

But if he had to go through this alone? He didn’t think he’d survive it.

 

“Stop thinking, I can hear you loud and clear,” Natasha’s voice broke through his melancholy thoughts, and she tugged him into the converted medical ward, leading him swiftly to the bed farthest at the end, behind a black-out curtain. She tugged it aside and disappeared to let him have five minutes alone.

 

A nurse was tending to his lover, and gave him a sharp glance at first, but seemed to realize how fondly he was gazing at the man in the bed, and luckily didn’t seem to know that he had just attacked the helicarrier only an hour ago. Clint gave her a sheepish smile and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Phil, taking the free hand that was bandaged up with an IV.

 

“Is he gonna be okay?” His hands wrung together, twitching restlessly; it was always better that he had something to do with his hands. He was gonna knit Coulson a hell of a blanket while he was here recovering. It was going to be an obnoxious purple with a Captain America shield that completely clashed with it, but he didn’t care. Phil deserved something of Clint’s to keep him company while the archer inevitably was dragged through review boards and a slew of psychologists and got interrogated to death (hopefully not literally).

 

“He’s stable. We got him into surgery and fixed the damage there. Now just pray that everything holds and he doesn’t start bleeding into his heart again. He’s in an induced coma for now.” The nurse, whose tag read Vasquez, gave him a tight, but reassuring, smile. “He just needs rest and maybe a miracle or two. I’ll give you a moment.” Clint nodded in thanks and turned back immediately to Phil, taking a deep breath.

 

“This is my fault, that you’re here. I know when you wake up you’re gonna call bullshit and try to talk me out of it, but I know, okay? I led Loki onto the helicarrier, and once he was on there he stabbed you and…” He trailed off, realizing only now how thick his throat was with tears. He swallowed them down and sighed. His five minutes were almost up.

 

“I’ll be back for you, Phil,” he promised, cupping the too-cool cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead. It was his lover who was normally the most tender this way, but once in a while Clint let out the nurturing side he’d had back in the circus with the younger kids who got sick, or in his foster homes when he was the oldest and he had to look out for everyone else while the foster parents went and got high or gambled their money away in the nearest casino, cashing in the checks they got from each new foster kid they snatched up.

 

Phil had been nothing like them when he’d become his handler and later his lover and boyfriend (even if the man insisted that the term sounded far too juvenile, Clint, have you seen my hairline lately?). He’d cared about Clint from the start, helping him up after shooting him in the leg and helping him back to the van, deflecting or coolly ignoring any taunts or insults or aggressive questioning from the then-unruly teenager. He’d treated Clint like the adult he’d basically been back then, always listened to his opinion and had his six.

 

He forced himself out of the med bay, nodding at Vasquez as he hurried back to where Natasha was waiting, now with Steve in tow. He eyed the Captain warily, but he just gave him a curt nod and gestured backwards.

 

“Let’s go. We have a city to save.”

\-----

All of the aches and tiredness he felt from staying awake for the past almost forty-eight hours was washed away in the adrenaline in the thick of battle, heart pounding and nerves jumping as he made impossible shots and jumped off of buildings and finally ended up in Stark Tower with the, well. The team. His team.

 

None of them looked at him funny, just gave grateful smiles that he’d helped save New York, and an even more grateful look from Thor, who knew how much Clint had wanted to put an arrow through his brother’s eye. Loki was being transferred in SHIELD custody now.

 

The archer half limped, half strode over to Tony.

 

“Hey, Stark? You mind giving me a lift again? Or,” he eyed the suit that was audibly creaking with a new wary eye, “have a helicopter I could borrow--”

 

“My sweet ride definitely isn’t up to holding two right now, it’s true,” the billionaire said rather sadly, but perked up as the sound of other repulsors nearing in the distance filtered in through the open window. “But someone else can. Rhodey! Sweetybear! I was going to call you--”

 

“DAMMIT, TONY, DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I WAS?”

 

“Calm down, cupcake, Katniss here needs a ride to--I don’t know, somewhere that isn’t here--”

 

“My name’s Clint, actually, uh, the helicarrier--”

 

“JARVIS will get you in close without any alarms blaring,” Stark skipped right past the rest of the formalities. Clint decided not to mention to Fury in his sit-rep that Iron Man had a way to get past their defenses so easily. The guy was doin’ him a favor, he wasn’t about to stab him (or anyone else, not again) in the back like that. “The guy looks desperate, honeybee, you don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”

 

“I swear to god, Tones!”

 

But after only one more dirty look, War Machine clomped over to Clint, looking put out with his faceplate back. “I apologize for everything that Tony is. And he’s only using this as an excuse to get out of talking like A GROWN ADULT--” this was shot back at Tony, who was already retreating to the bar to get Loki that drink he’d asked for, for some reason, “--but you do look kind of antsy for having just saved the entire world.”

 

“It’s, uh,” Clint hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Someone special.”

 

Rhodey nodded understandingly, faceplate sliding back into place. He held out an arm, and Clint stepped in close, just as JARVIS announced that he was patching through the previously missed call from Miss Potts, and why did Natasha look so ramrod straight all of a sudden like Stark did, too? Clint shook his head as they took off; some things he was better off not knowing for now.

 

The flight back to the helicarrier was littered with news choppers daringly coming in close again, some reporters even boldly leaning out of the vehicles to shout at them, “WAR MACHINE, WERE YOU INVOLVED IN THIS FIGHT? COULD YOU GIVE US A QUOTE--”

 

“YOU’RE THE ARCHER, AREN’T YOU? IS IT TRUE YOU WERE ON THE OTHER SIDE WHEN THIS FIGHT BROKE OUT--”

 

Both Clint and Rhodes held up middle fingers for quite some time before they made it up onto the main flight deck of the helicarrier. Jets and other vehicles were still strewn about haphazardly, and Rhodey gave him a once-over.

 

“You sure you’re gonna be okay? I’m not gonna get a warm welcome in there, either, but I can come in if you want.”

 

Shit, he hadn’t realized he’d looked so shaken up. No wonder those news sharks had been all over him. He shook his head firmly.

 

“No, I’ll be okay, man. Thanks for the ride! Give Stark hell, but, uh, tell him thanks, okay?”

 

Rhodey rolled his eyes.

 

“Will do. And hey!” He added before taking off, repulsors firing up. “Nicknames are a sign of affection from him!”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow and took a second to ponder that as he watched War Machine streak into the sky. He wondered if that meant Tony liked Phil more than he was letting on…

 

“He calls me Agent, I don’t think he even knows my first name, Clint!” had been a frequent complaint. He hid his smile as he made his way inside, he’d have to tell him that. It wouldn’t do to be smiling after what he’d done today, and the thought was sobering enough for him to keep his resting face in place without any effort. More glares and muted stares were hurled at him as he headed back down to the makeshift Medical Bay, and he nearly ran straight into Fury on his way.

 

The man simply nodded at him and turned back to his conversation with Maria Hill, who, surprisingly enough, didn’t send him a dirty glare. Apparently she knew just what influence he’d been under when he’d attacked her and the helicarrier. He was silently grateful.

 

He nodded a hello at the new medic in charge, hoping he’d see Vasquez again, and this one also  didn’t put up a fuss at letting him in more because of the amount of agents in charge than anything else. Clint hurried over to Phil’s bed, and his heart leaped when he saw that he was awake.

 

“Hey, you,” he greeted him, trying to hold back some of his enthusiasm; he didn’t want to overwhelm the man right now. Dead for forty seconds, he wasn’t risking it anymore than he had to. He looked it, too, pale and with dark circles under his eyes that usually magically disappeared overnight. Clint had often accused him of using concealer. Phil had never said if he was right or not.

 

“Clint,” Phil croaked, and Clint slid in closer to sit on the bed, facade starting to crumble at the mere sound of his name from Phil’s lips, which had been thankfully wiped clean of blood. He never wanted to see that ever again.

 

“I’m here, babe, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Unless someone came to arrest him, but they could go over that later. Phil seemed reassured, though, and reached with a shaking hand to grasp his own, which he’d taken the time on his journey with Rhodes to wipe off as much as possible. A wet wipe was dropped on his lap, and he saw a young intern scurry off. He snorted and wiped his ashy and blood hands, poking at the cuts on his arms when Phil’s lip twitched into a faint shadow of his usual disapproving Clint-You-Are-Going-To-Medical-That-Is-Final frown.

 

“Just went through a window, there was some broken glass. I’m fine, I swear. Nothing critical. But…” He paused to blink away the sudden wetness in his eyes. “You, you’re...how are you feeling? Should you even be awake yet? I mean, you got--you got stabbed through the fucking chest, Phil, how are you even here right now, I…” He wasn’t aware he was just plain crying until familiar but trembling arms drew him in close, and he carefully tucked his face into Phil’s neck and sobbed for a minute, clutching at him as tightly as he dared. Whatever they’d pumped into his lover, it was doing its job, because he hardly flinched as he was squeezed.

 

“Shhh, Clint, I’m okay,” Phil somehow managed to rasp, and Clint pulled back to look in his eyes. “I’ll be okay. The doctors said I’ll be okay as long as I rest.” Clint nodded, eyes still teary.

 

“Phil, I’m so sorry, this is all my own fault--”

 

“This is not your fault, Clint,” Phil wheezed as fiercely as he could, calmed down only by Clint’s hand on his chest. “I am not here because of you, you did not stab me, he did. Don’t forget that.”

 

“I know, it’s just--if I hadn’t attacked the helicarrier--”

 

“You were mind-controlled--”

 

“Still--”

 

“No more buts,” Phil cut him off again, glaring at him, and there was the Finger of Doom. Clint had missed that finger. He daringly leaned forwards to kiss it, and enjoyed the flush that crept down Phil’s neck.

 

“Only ‘cause you asked me so nicely,” he said softly, meaning it. Okay, so he wasn’t going to stop blaming himself, but he’d try for Phil’s sake. He was alive, at least, and Clint was so damn grateful for that. He didn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t made it. Probably throw himself off of the Helicarrier without a parachute. Or maybe Stark’s ode to his dick that was Stark Tower, that thing was pretty damn high.

 

“Good.”

 

Phil could clearly tell that he wasn’t in complete agreement, but was satisfied for now that he was going to let it go. He motioned Clint in closer, and the archer stripped down so his dirty clothes wouldn’t get on the sheets. He slid in next to him and tucked in as closely as he dared.

 

“We’ll talk more later after we’ve slept a little. Okay?” Phil croaked. Clint nodded and pecked him on the lips.

 

“Glad you’re okay, Phil. So glad.”

 

“Me too, Clint. Sleep now.”

 

He did.

 

**The End**


End file.
